


White Canvas

by TheVineSpeaketh



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt Kíli, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Protective Fíli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:45:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVineSpeaketh/pseuds/TheVineSpeaketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I care not about my own downfall. It matters to me very little, especially in dreams.” Fíli did not even get the chance to tell him this was foolish because his brother’s eyes were resting on his face again, taking in all his features as if he could only look upon him one last time. His hands came to Fíli’s cheeks, holding his face both gently and firmly, as if afraid of letting go. “Seeing you fall above me, with no way of reaching you in time and no way to protect you as oft you had protected me, was more than I could bear.”</p><p>Kíli dreams of what could have happened at Ravenhill, and seeks Fíli out in the middle of the night. </p><p>Happy Holidays, everyone. A fix-it fic for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Brendan Maclean's cover of "White Canvas" while listening to this, particularly the small instrumental bit at the very, very end.
> 
> I wanted to write a Christmas fic for everyone who's stuck it through with me this year, and I thought, hey, everyone wants a Hobbit Fix-It fic for Christmas, right? (I know I certainly did.)
> 
> This is the result. I hope you enjoy it!

The late hours did not render Erebor entirely silent the way they used to. Before Erebor had been restored to those it had been stolen from before, the city was empty and void of all of its previous laughter and cheer and bustling enterprise, curiously blank of all of what majesty it had once held. What had tainted its halls was instead a dark malice, only held in place by its sole occupant. Even after the city had been freed of its tyrannical overseer, it had fallen into an ill sort of state, reflecting the sickness of the mind that its new ruler possessed.

But after the long battle had been fought and the Dwarves, Elves, and Men emerged victorious, the barricade at Erebor’s doors had been torn asunder, and people from all sorts of lands had streamed in. The walls at once gained a lighter weight, their overbearing presences seeming to tower more with the intent to protect than the keen, peering watch they had been set to long ago. With the help of generous peoples from both near and far, the reconstruction of the city had been a relatively short, nearly painless affair. There was much celebration afterward, and the rightful king took his place on the throne, crowned Thorin, King of Erebor before his people. Fíli, the eldest of his two nephews, was crowned Prince, and there was much joy over that as well.

Months had passed since those days, and Erebor’s bustling economy once again drove the people nearby into prosperity. The city of Dale was rebuilt with reparations paid willingly by the king, who also offered the aid of his own smiths and builders in apology for his previous behavior. The Dwarves maintained a good standing with the people of Laketown, and soon Bard and Thorin were often seen in company with one another, discussing everything from the political, such as the well-being of their respective peoples, to the mundane, such as the weather.

Not much time had passed before the Elves had also been pulled into the mix, encouraged by Bard to come take council with them. Fíli had pressed on the part of his uncle to do much of the same, and eventually he coaxed his uncle to accept the invitation and to seek out the Elves. Thranduil, King of the Greenwood, had emerged eventually from his forest, albeit somewhat grudgingly, to hold council with the King of Erebor, and so they did. They, and Bard, remained locked in a room with their various advisers and wise men for what seemed to be days, before finally the doors opened, all the people streaming out and, following on their heels, a kind of peace came along with them. Elves and Dwarves had gained a grudging respect for one another since that day, and many saw it as a miracle that King Thorin had willingly given the Elves back their jewels of starlight.

Erebor had gained a mighty ally that day, and with jewels and various smith-crafts streaming from the halls of Erebor, and the various foods and Elvish goods flowing from the Greenwood, Dale was rebuilt into the shining example of prosperity it had been many years before, and should remain, with much good luck and great leadership as Bard’s, for many years hence.

All was well.

(~~~~)

The late hours did not render Erebor entirely silent as they used to, and so nobody could hear the soft, bare pattering of feet as they took off across the stone floors. No one could make out the unusual sound of a hand gently touching the corners of walls as a head of dark hair craned around the edge to look for any passersby before darting out into the darkness, traversing hall after hall until the figure finally reached its destination.

A large wooden door, carved out of some giant monstrous tree, no doubt, stood before the figure, and where before the figure had not hesitated in his journey, he seemed to be called entirely to a stop here, gazing up at the door as if hindered somehow by its mere existence. For a moment, all the figure did was stare, before slowly, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the door, a hand pressing against the wood just below where his heart was. His eyes slid shut, and for a moment, all he did was listen.

He heard the distant sounds of the city moving, echoing off of the walls and into the halls where he stood. He could hear the sounds of carts rolling over the stone floors, of the people talking to one another, of laughter in some distant pub as the patrons made merry into the early hours. He could hear the sounds closer to him of people quietly shuffling through the halls, of doors opening and closing, of quiet talking as people wandered back to their chambers, saying a late goodnight to their friends or family. If he listened even closer, he could hear the sounds of his somewhat-ragged breathing, of his heart beating slowly beneath his breast.

So lost was he in the sounds of the world around him that he did not seem to hear the sounds of footsteps that matched his own. Only when the door latch clicked out of place did he manage to open his eyes and stagger back, taking notice that the door was opening. The door indeed swung open, and instead of the figure inside stepping out, he simply paused, taking in the sight of the man across from him, his eyes lit by the candle he held aloft in his hand, glowing a reassuring blue that never whispered ill tidings and only brought happiness, comfort, and hope where they rested.

His mouth opened, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion and concern. “Kíli?” he whispered into the hall.

Lowering his candle from eye level, he could clearly make out his brother in the darkness, taking note of his state of dress—he hadn’t even readied for bed yet—and the state of his hair, still adorned in the usual braids and beads that signified royalty and status. He focused then on his face, from which he could see a beard beginning to form along the ridge of his chin, his lips, usually upturned in some form of smile, no matter the size, now laying completely flat and expressionless upon his features, as if a smudge of soot had been left in their place. His cheeks were aglow with thin streaks that he immediately recognized as tears, and yes, when he looked up even further to his eyes he could see they were there as well.

It didn’t take much for him to reach out and pull at his brother, tugging him by his arm into his room. Kíli willingly followed him, sniffling audibly as he walked, and as soon as he had Kíli inside, Fíli closed the door, locking it behind him. His movements were then slower as he moved toward his brother, setting the candle on the table by his bedside. Slowly, began to disrobe him, removing the royal garb he wore and gently grasping his hands to help him step out of his shoes. Kíli was still the entire time, moving only at Fíli’s gentle coaxing, and soon enough he was dressed comfortably enough for bed, wearing a few of Fíli’s borrowed garments. Fíli took his hands again, gently smiling at him as he stepped backward, leading them to the wide expanse of his bed.

Fíli motioned for Kíli to sit, which he did, and Fíli crawled onto the bed, moving gently behind him and seating himself, his hands coming to Kíli’s hair and gently working on tugging the braids free of their clasps and removing the beads. His work was done silently but lovingly, his hands occasionally carding through the dark hair for no other purpose but to savor its feel, his fingertips occasionally catching on the tip of Kíli’s ear. It was a calming, soothing labor that Fíli undertook gently and kindly.

“I had a nightmare.”

The words came from out of nowhere, but Fíli did not seem surprised by them. “In your clothes?” he asked quietly, his voice low but not unkind.

“I fell asleep between bouts of study,” he admitted. “Nobody saw fit to fetch me out of it and left me to my sleep.”

“And what did you dream?” Fíli asked, working on one of the largest braids, admiring the dark fall of Kíli’s hair in the firelight.

“I dreamed of us,” he said more confidently than he had spoken yet, as if speaking away from Fíli gave him strength. “We were atop the Ravenhill, and Dwalin and Uncle were with us. We were looking to ambush Azog the Defiler—”

\--which, in reality, they had, and to much joy. The ambushing fleet approaching from Angmar had been left with only the Lieutenant Bolg, who had not stood much against the Elves that had come rushing to their aid. The attack was beaten back by Radagast’s covenant with the Eagles and Beorn’s mighty strength, and had died at the hands of Greenwood Elves still fighting among the walls of Dale.

“We had been sent to scout ahead, and we did, as per Uncle’s instruction,” Kíli continued, though his hands were clutching at his knees with white knuckles and his voice was strangely distant. “And at one point, among the dark walls of the small outpost there, we heard a noise. I went at once to follow the noise to the source and eradicate it, but you stopped me. You sent me away, telling me to go below and continue looking there, and you went after the noise yourself.”

There was a silent moment, then, during which Fíli had placed the last bead into a small basin full of them at his bedside. He took to simply touching Kíli’s hair, watching it gently slip through his hands, feeling it in the soft skin between his fingers. It grounded him, as he hoped it grounded Kíli.

“I searched for a long while until I re-emerged from below, only to find that our Uncle’s gaze was transfixed on something above me. I looked up, and…” He gently hiccupped here, his voice wavering. “…and there you were, held tightly within Azog’s grasp, and I watched as he drove you through with his knife. I watched as your body fell, and all I could see was your face, lost and blank with death, your body lying limp before me.”

Fíli’s hands stilled in his brother’s hair, his eyebrows knitting again, and the silence around them was deafening. Kíli began to turn, and Fíli released his hair to let him fully do so, watching his brother’s face intently. Kíli was crying anew, tears streaming down his cheeks and clinging to the hair at his chin, his mouth drawn in a despairing line. “I was so angry,” he said, voice thick through his tears, “and I stormed up the stairs to look for Azog myself and kill him. I was accosted before I could even get to you, and I fell.”

Fíli drew in a sharp breath, sorrow filling him. “Kíli…”

Kíli breathed out through his nose hard enough to nearly snort, his expression turning to one of annoyance as he looked off to the right of Fíli, glaring at the ornate bedspread. “I care not about my own downfall. It matters to me very little, especially in dreams.” Fíli did not even get the chance to tell him this was foolish because his brother’s eyes were resting on his face again, taking in all his features as if he could only look upon him one last time. His hands came to Fíli’s cheeks, holding his face both gently and firmly, as if afraid of letting go. “Seeing you fall above me, with no way of reaching you in time and no way to protect you as oft you had protected me, was more than I could bear.”

His face, pinched with worry and weary with repressed sorrow, dissolved once more into a tearful mask of pain, and Fíli reached up to clasp his hands around his brother’s wrists. “Kíli,” he said quietly, his voice soft in the expanse of his room. Kíli looked him in the eye, searching for something but holding his gaze. “I am far from gone from you. We are not lying dead on the Ravenhill. We are here, in my room, upon my bed. It is _my_ face you hold in your hands, Kíli, and with my strength I hold fast to you now. I am still here, still alive, still breathing for you, _amralime_.”

Kíli’s tears still shook him, and his hands slid past Fíli’s cheeks to clasp around his neck, his head dipping in a small, imperceptible nod. Fíli leaned close, his hands coming to Kíli’s cheeks, and he bestowed a small kiss on his forehead, slowly lowering himself once more to look Kíli in the eye again.

“Come,” he murmured quietly, lowering his hands, and pulling Kíli gently toward him, falling toward the bed below them. “Let us retire. You may sleep in my chambers and be near me.”

“I should not bother you.” But he followed Fíli’s body to where he lay, watching his eyes as he did so.

“It is not a matter of choice,” Fíli murmured, and Kíli came fully to rest across from him. Their eyes met, and Fíli gave him a gentle smile, his hand reaching forward again to brush tears away from his cheeks. Kíli laughed, then, a small, sad thing that nevertheless restored life to his face. Fíli smiled a small smile in return. “I need you here with me as much as you need to be here.”

Kíli’s gaze became somewhat saddened, then, and he reached a hand over Fíli’s heart, resting it there gently. Fíli let him do so without any qualm. “May I stay here forever?”

The question seemed teeming with meaning, but Fíli knew the answers to all. His hand came over his brother’s heart in turn, and he closed his eyes, whispering, “Yes, you may. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Kíli’s eyes closed, too, and they moved toward each other, close enough that their heads could touch. The echoes of Erebor faded at the door, leaving them ensconced in their own little silent haven. Though, perhaps, if one listened hard enough, they could hear the faint echoes of what sounded like, “forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the read! I currently have a Hobbit Victorian AU in the works, so I'm hoping I can get that out soon. It may be multi-chaptered, depending on how long the first bit is. 
> 
> At any rate, I hope you enjoyed this fanfiction, and have a happy holiday!
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://exacteyewriting.tumblr.com)


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